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Or when stern Austria stretched her lawless reign And spent in northern fights the flower of Spain; Or war's hoarse furies yelled on Ysell's shore, And Alva's ruffian sword was drunk with gore. Yet dared not then Tlascala's chiefs withstand The lofty daring of Castilia's band;
And weeping France her captive king deplored, And cursed the deathful point of Ebro's sword. Now, nerved with hope, their night of slavery past,
Each heart beats high in freedom's buxom blast; Lo, Conquest calls, and beckoning from afar, Uplifts his laurel wreath, and waves them on to
-Wo to th' usurper then, who dares defy The sturdy wrath of rustic loyalty. Wo to the hireling bands, foredoomed to feel How strong in labor's horny hand the steel. Behold e'en now, beneath yon Boetic skies Another Pavia bids her trophies rise.E'en now in base disguise and friendly night Their robber-monarch speeds his secret flight; And with new zeal the fiery Lusians rear, (Roused by their neighbor's worth,) the longneglected spear.
'So when stern winter chills the April showers, And iron frost forbids the timely flowers,
O, deem not thou the vigorous herb below
Sweet as the martial trumpet's silver swell,
Spirit,' I cried, dread teacher, yet declare,
Too long her sons, estranged from war and toil,
Say,shall my country, roused from deadly sleep,
High rose his forın,and darkness veiled his head. Fast from his eyes the ruddy lightning broke, To heaven he reared his arm, and thus he spoke:
'Wo, trebly wo to their slow zeal who bore Delusive comfort to Iberia's shore.
Who in mid conquest, vaunting, yet dismayed,
Chilled the pure stream of England's energy,
'O peerless island, generous, bold, and free, Lost, ruined Albion, Europe mourns for thee. Hadst thou but known the hour in mercy given To stay thy doom, and ward the ire of heaven; Bared in the cause of man thy warrior breast, And crushed on yonder hills the approaching pest, Then had not murder sacked thy smiling plain, And wealth,and worth,and wisdom all been vain. 'Yet, yet awake, while fear and wonder wait, On the poised balance, trembling still with fate. If aught their worth can plead, in battle tried, Who tinged with slaughter Tajo's curdling tide; (What time base truce the wheels of war could stay,
And the weak victor flung his wreath away)
Or theirs, who, doled in scanty bands afar, Waged without hope the disproportioned war, And cheerly still, and patient of distress,
Led their forwasted files on numbers numberless.
O, if such hope can plead, or his, whose bier
'And yet the end is not: from yonder towers, While one Saguntum mocks the victor's powers, While one brave heart defies a servile chain, And one true soldier wields a lance for Spain; Trust not, vain tyrant, though thy spoiler band In tenfold myriads darken half the land;
(Vast as that power, against whose impious lord
Bethulia's matron shook the nightly sword ;) Though ruth and fear thy woundless soul defy, And fatal genius fire thy martial eye;
Yet trust not here o'er yielding realms to roam, Or cheaply bear a bloodless laurel home.
No, by His viewless arm whose righteous
Defends the orphan's tear, the poor man's prayer;
No-shall yon eagle, from the snare set free,